I am from: using nature memories to define who we are and to celebrate our unique sense of place.

The inspiration

Recently I came across an article about the “I Am From” poem and the project that flowed from it.  The poems moved me deeply as I read through the unique and diverse experiences reflected in the poems people submitted.   Some of them, very powerful and moving.  The original poem and catalyst for this project was written by George Ella Lyons.  People are welcome to submit poems to the project’s Facebook page and website, and have even created videos for YouTube.  They do this individually or as a group.  There is a wonderful video of a collaborative fabric art project that not only celebrates each unique person, but creates a strong sense of place as a whole.

 I wrote a poem for myself and was surprised at the countless sights, sounds, and events that define who I am today! It includes good parts and the not-so-good, and some of the pain that emerged during this process.   I suggest a focus on what is true, but to also look for the good.  Good seems to endure and light the way, for ourselves but also for others.   I submitted this poem to the website, and hope it will be added to the “river of voices” and the amazing diversity of experiences.

 A nature perspective

Then I wondered if condensing my focus to nature would also work and tried it out – you can read that result below.  This process inspired me to add the words and resulting imagery to my nature journal.  I loved the renewed connection to the nature of my childhood and beyond, and drew with abandon, not worrying about tidy lines or splashing color around! 

This was such a memorable experience!  I suggest you try it in your own nature journal.  You can see that some of my sketches are uncomplicated while some have a bit more attention.  Some reflect that inner child.  Don’t worry about your skill level – just the basics, or even descriptive color swathes work.  Both Clare Walker Leslie and Mimi Robinson have used color shapes alone to beautifully describe environments and seasons.  Try it and see.  There are also other ways to add visual imagery:  photos, collage, prints, or ephemera such as pressed leaves or flowers, maps, tickets, fabric, and much more.

 Your own deep connection matters

It is the deep connection to place that matters, and the bits and pieces that echo place besides the flora, fauna, and geology: the colors, smells, tastes, textures, and emotions.  These have created how we view and interact with nature today.  It is a good thing to recognize the role they’ve played – and it is a good thing to expand our views when we experience another’s memories. 

 

Click to view larger.

If you aren’t sure where to start, I offer you an exercise developed just for nature.  The 2-page PDF can be downloaded HERE.  One side has suggestions and prompts, the other has my nature poem plus links to the I Am From project website and Facebook page, plus YouTube videos. 

Here is my “I Am From” poem.

I am from
knee-deep snowdrifts, frozen lashes, the searing breath of winter.
Summertime poison ivy rash and itchy mosquito bumps
chasing butterflies and garter snakes
magical fireflies and a whippoorwill lullaby.

I am from
the indigo blue comfort after a midwestern sunset
the musty taste of black walnuts and joyful sweetness of tiny wild blackberries
the bright flash of cardinal and a hummingbird’s glittering eye.
Fluttering spring beauties with tiaras of columbines
and the thrum of bees in the clover.

I am from
The mighty Mississippi,
a languid longing below
the stink of fish and duckweed
and the thrill of snapping turtles.
River bottom land, and banks and bluffs of stacked limestone.

I am from
sturdy oaks and maples,
deer trails and owl pellets
under improbably green new leaves, so delicate, glowing.
Standing in prairie grasses filled with tiny treasures
and the wind in my hair.

 

Media
Aquabee Super Deluxe 6x9” mixed media sketchbook (double spread)
Daniel Smith watercolors
Micron Pigma 01 black artist pen
Sakura Gelly Roll white gel pen 10

On the web:

I Am From Project website:  https://iamfromproject.com/

I Am From  Facebook page:  https://www.facebook.com/iamfromproject/

 Additional YouTube videos:

I Am From | Celebrating Hispanic Heritage Month by Juan Delgado, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XFtXf1bAC-E

I Am From...A Poem by Aaric Pelc, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TVryvxLTIyU

And a collective project by participants of the 2020 Whole Child, Whole Day Social Emotional Learning Symposium:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PRM0-fdEJX4

 

A connection to place

I think we’ve all known special places that have deep meaning for us personally.

 Maybe we don’t always recognize it at the time.  There are several natural places that are special to me, but those with the deepest roots are woven from my childhood memories.  Colors and shapes, smells and sounds, and textures like the tactile velvet of new buds or flaking limestone. 

 The memories stay vivid and strong – some more so, some less.  Most of them comforting, but some, not so much.   They speak of my relationships with nature.  They are both known and unknown, some barely lurking within my subconscious.  What I remember most are not the events, but the feelings those connections gave me.

 

Maple leaves, owl feather, hickory nuts, and wild grape.

This is a small nature sketch done years ago, somewhere in the mid-1980s, of things collected on a walk through Iowa woods.  It was mid-autumn, and the season gave me treasures and a near infinity of browns and buff, with splashes of red and yellow.  Along the trail: leaves on limb and ground, sticks and branches and trunks and bark, seeds and frost-bitten fruits, empty acorn caps and sometimes a glimpse of gritty green. 

 The woods I rambled in are located in upper northeast Iowa, along a limestone ridge and bluff above a river.   It is a place of meditation, of quietness threaded with birdsong.   This is also a connection to a point in time.  Fall is a favorite season of mine; it feels like an important transition somehow, and I sometimes catch my breath waiting for the next thing to come.

It feels like a time to let life unwind, and a place to rest and heal. 

A sacred place.

 

Media:
Paper - unknown mass-produced watercolor paper pad, about 8x10"
Watercolor paint, probably Grumbacher and/or Winsor & Newton
     (the colors still surprisingly bright after almost 40 years)
Craft brushes
# 2 Pencil

Art and nature are my healers

Offering.  From Phelps Park.

Loss is a path we ultimately walk alone.

It surprises.  It wrenches.  It hollows.

Grief can seem overwhelming.   Then it vanishes, to emerge again, unexpectedly.

This is not the only time grief and I have traveled this path, and I’m sure it won’t be the last

Like many artists, I am an introvert.  I am a private person in some ways, and prefer to keep my pain to myself.  Not a person to share intimate feelings.  It is how I heal best.

Years ago, I read a passage in Drawn to Nature – Through the Nature Journals of Clare Walker Leslie that helped me, and I share it as a way to continue to light the dark path for others.  In this lovely book, Clare Walker Leslie wrote of her experience when her mother became ill and grief wrenched her soul, and of how turning outward to nature restored her.  She started looking for and sometimes sketching what she called “daily exceptional images.” 

She wrote “Every day, while my mother’s illness progressed, I would find one image outdoors that I could hold onto, like a marble in my pocket that I rubbed for nourishment and balance.  This looking out at the world helped my looking in, towards my own pain.”  

I remembered this and tried to looked outward, tried to draw, to find my touchstone.  It took me a week before I could put pen to paper, but I continued to look for beautiful and exceptional images.  Just one.  Every day.  This I could do.

One exceptional image sometimes led to a universe of beauty. Not always, but sometimes.

At last I could sketch something.  Once I started, I was soothed.  Maybe it was the repetition of making lines or brush marks.  Maybe because I didn’t need to think, I could quietly and gently process my feelings.  I could be mindful about something exceptional that did not cause pain, but instead promised something more.

A sad road home  Low clouds, low hearts.

I might say that nature is my healer, and art my confessor.  Or perhaps it’s the other way around. My mother has passed from our earth and I miss her every day.  She is one of the reasons I share my art and words and my love of our natural world.  

There is still beauty if we see with softened eyes.

Art takes many forms.  When it’s your turn to walk with grief, maybe you'll remember Clare’s example.  Look outside of self, search for the beauty, for just one exceptional image, and let it soothe and comfort you.  Draw it, paint it, take a photo.  Make it into a quilt, knit it into a scarf, bake it into a pie.  

Hold that image to your heart, let it join you on your path that day, let it help to start the healing. 

If you want to find out more about Clare Walker Leslie’s works, please visit www.clarewalkerleslie.com

Media: 
Mainly ink and limited palette watercolor.
Aquabee sketchbook.